Mamie seemed like she had aged by twenty years in the past week. There were a lot more wrinkles on her face, her eyes were a lot more cynical and she had probably lost a fair amount of weight. What she hadn't lost, however, was her contempt for the crown. The old woman was as fierce as ever as she tried to barrel past the guards at the main gate.
"Let me through!" she snapped as she tried to make it through. "I want to see the count myself. I want to see if he is even real or if the county is run by a stack of hay."
"That's your Mamie?" Aveline asked as they watched the old woman wrestling with the castle guards.
"Yes," Lyam said with the shadow of a smile.
Aveline cleared her throat and put a hand on the boy's shoulder. "What's on your mind, Lyam?" she said.
Aveline’s eyes were grave when he looked at her and there was a hint of worry on her brow. "I...I'm glad that she is alive," he said hesitantly and looked back at Mamie, as if an invisible hand was turning his head.
"I imagine you are," Aveline said and leaned down to his level. "But what are you going to do about it now?"
Lyam was quiet for a long time, unable to take his eyes off his grandmother who kept fighting the castle guards for a reason he couldn't imagine. And truth be told, he didn't really care. The fact that she had survived the fire in Vermeil, dodged the attack on Eisdel and made it all the way here in front of him felt no less than an act of god.
He wasn't as worried about whether or not he was going to talk to her, he was just too exhilarated to finally have seen her with his own eyes. Then he felt Aveline's hand on his shoulder squeezing him, pulling him out of the fog of his own happiness and into the real world. "Lyam, she is right there, what are you going to do?" she said again.
The boy nodded, almost as if he was letting her know that he could hear her words and was back into reality. He took a deep breath before he spoke. "I need a quill and a page from one of your books," he said.
###
While the guards were still trying to keep the woman from entering, another man walked up from behind them. He was completely bald with eyes so blue they looked almost innocent and a mouth that was perpetually scowling. He was tall and burly with broad shoulders, clad in full body plate armor and a longsword on his back. A knight. A simple shove from him pushed Alda away by several feet. Even though there was intimidating force behind his action, it barely scraped at the old woman's stubbornness. She was back on her feet and ready to struggle against the guard in a breath.
The man stepped forward himself. “If you have any concern for your well being then stand back,” he said, every word he uttered was like heavy lead dropping on stone floor.
“Sir Quentin, she said she wanted to speak to the count,” one of the lower ranking guards said to the knight.
Quentin narrowed his eyes at Alda. “Were you summoned by Lord De Croy?” he said.
“I'm here to speak to him in person. Not his servants,” the old woman said, voice brimming with contempt.
“Watch your mouth, hag!” one of the guards snapped.
The knight raised his hand at them, his eyes neither blinked nor left Alda's face. “On any other day, we would've had your head on a spike, but we are celebrating Brismont's victory right now. Be grateful we spared your life.” He tossed her a silver didier and turned to leave.
Alda glared at the coin he'd thrown her. She stepped on it and raised her voice, “I said I wanted to speak to the count and I'm not leaving until I do!”
The knight stopped and regarded her over his shoulder. “Then you'll be here for a while since the Count has left the city this morning. He wouldn't return for another week.”
Alda's anger wavered for a second. “L-Left? On Triumphant day?” she said.
The knight didn't humor her with any more answers. He walked back into the castle after telling the guards to lower the portcullis. Alda watched the metal grid descending to the ground, blocking the entrance to the castle.
The small crowd that had gathered by the gate slowly dispersed, rather disappointed they didn’t get to watch the old woman getting kicked down by the guardsmen. Alda didn't move from her spot for a long moment. Then she heard someone say, “Some fight, that was. I wouldn't have lasted as long as you did. They probably would've kicked me in the jewels.”
She turned to find a man in ragged clothes and a knight's half-helm on his head. He had a bindle on one shoulder and he held a roasted corn on a cob in the other hand.
“Do I look like I care?” she rolled her eyes and turned to leave.
The vagrant looked at the silver didier that was still lying on the ground. “You should take it with you,” he said, picking the coin.
“Keep it. I don't have any use for it.” She said as she kept walking.
“Take it, grandma. You can always find something to do with the silver,” the vagrant walked after her with the coin in his hand.
“Money can't bring me those who I've lost,” she said, sounding tired, almost dejected.
The vagrant raised an eyebrow under his helm. “Oh, so they took your children too?” he said.
Alda frowned deeply. “What are you talking about?”
“The shapecrafters who have been going around stealing children. Is your home a graveyard as well?” he said.
Alda's gaze softened, the fury and irritation was replaced with resignation. “Now that you speak of it, I think my home was always a graveyard,” she said, remembering the day she lost her daughter in law after little Emma was born, then the day when her son left to fight in the Great Cleansing and never returned. At last, came the memory of the fire, stained with ash and blood. Then it seemed apparent that she was never going to see her grandchildren again. “Just keep the silver,” she said absently and began to walk away.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
The vagrant was still watching her, he tossed his half eaten corn aside. “I saw a graveyard a few days ago myself,” he said. “It was covered in ash.”
Alda paused, a strange feeling invaded her heart. “Wh-What graveyard are you talking about?” she said.
The vagrant now seemed to be talking to himself. “I found something fascinating in there. I wasn't expecting it to be there and yet–”
“What did you find?” Alda was curious.
“This!” The man pulled out a spatula from his bindle. “I look like a real knight with a sword now, don't I?” he struck a pose that probably looked heroic in his head but was anything but that in reality.
Alda rolled her eyes and turned to leave again. The man had gotten her curious with his talk about graveyards and ash but now it was clear that his words were about as real as his knighthood.
“Also,” the man said again, “I met a boy in the graveyard. He said he was looking for someone.”
Alda shook her head, that’s just rambling. Nothing but rambling.
“Hey, wait, where are you going?” he was still following her.
Alda didn't speak. But she knew she wasn’t going to let the matter slide. Just because the count had left the city, it didn't mean that she couldn't get any answers. The Justice ceremony was carried out religiously on each Triumphant day. And it was the Count who was meant to preside over the ceremony.
If he wasn't going to attend, then it would be someone else he gave the charge of the County to. Whoever it was, she would get her answers from him. She kept walking.
###
Lyam and Aveline followed Mamie Alda as she made her way through the crowded streets of Diamond Veil. The boy had the piece of parchment in his hand, his eyes were restless and Aveline could tell he wanted nothing more than to call out to his grandmother and let her see him.
Aveline wondered if there was a way to calm him down, but a part of her knew that it was better to just let him be eager and restless to see the old woman. She was his family, afterall. Even if that concept was almost foreign to her, she knew it was something essential to most people. Especially Lyam.
They arrived outside the church in the southern part of the city. A dense crowd had gathered by the statue of Dikastis, the God of ultimate judgement who decided where everyone was meant to be in the society. He sat in his marble throne and his stone eyes looked down on all the mortals– nobles and commoners alike.
A tall and slender woman stood at the feet of the idol. Her fist was closed around a chain linked to the shackles of six people in tattered clothes. A few feet away from the woman and the chained outlaws, stood a noble in a doublet, breeches and hose, his boots were made of shiny leather and he read aloud from a scroll so everyone gathered could hear.
“Outlaw #237 step forth,” the noble called out. The man in tattered clothes stepped ahead, shackles clinking. “arrested on account of acquiring and hiding the Crown's wealth. Violation of the Sacred Charter and the Commoner's oath.”
Lyam paused, frowning. He leaned towards Aveline. “What's going on?” he whispered.
“It's the Justice Ceremony,” she whispered. “Have you never seen this before?”
Lyam shook his head.
She leaned down to his level. “Those people, according to Brismont's law, are enemies of the Crown.”
Lyam looked at them again, looked at their emaciated bodies, sunken faces, empty eyes, thinning hair and defeated slouch in the way they stood, heads hanging in resignation. None of them seemed like criminals to Lyam. If anything, they looked like they needed a hearty meal, a warm bath and some sleep. “What kind of crime did they even commit?” he said, in the same low whisper.
“A very specific kind,” a man standing next to Lyam said, his eyes intent on the shackled outlaw. “Eating one of those accursed flowers, trying to use magic for his own greed.”
Aveline frowned warily at the commoner who had butted into their conversation. She pulled Lyam away from him and spoke in a more discreet whisper. “Basically what that man said. It's clearly stated by the law of the kingdom that all magical practices are an act of treason unless they are carried out by authorized personnel or the nobility themselves.”
The same law that made outlaws of him and Aveline too. “So what's going to happen to them now?” Lyam asked.
Before Aveline could answer there was a loud, wet crunching sound followed by an ominous clang of metal. Lyam recognized that noise immediately. It was a sound he had heard all the time in Mamie's butchershop.
His quick reflex allowed him to catch a glimpse of the source of the sound through the crowd. Then he saw it--the severed head of the “outlaw” on the cobblestones, a pool of blood forming around it.
Lyam felt his own blood run cold at the sight. His mind only began to work again when Aveline whispered close to his ear, “This is the essence of Triumphant Day--to reinforce the superiority of Brismont law among the masses, to show that the law isn’t just above man, but also magic.”
“Outlaw #291 step forth,” the noble called out again. The next outlaw came forward.
He grabbed onto Aveline's wrist. “We need to do something!” he snapped in a whisper.
Aveline gave him a deadpan stare. She pulled him away from the crowd and leaned to his level. “Does it ever end with you?!” she said, “do you ever look at the world without the rosy glasses?”
Lyam frowned. “What do you mean?”
“Did you forget why we are here? Did you forget why we left the cottage in the first place?” she seized him by his shoulders and shook him sternly.
Lyam's voice faltered a bit as he spoke. “To…find Mamie and…to wake up the people of Eisdel.”
“Yes,” Aveline said. “And your mamie is right there in that crowd. All you have to do is slide the parchment into her hand. Why can't you do that one simple thing?”
“B-But…those people…did you see them? They were so…frail and…and…”
“Lyam, stop it!” Aveline snapped. “You can't save everyone. That's something you have to remind yourself over and over now that you,” she paused and lowered her voice, “now that you have your powers. You'll feel that strength buzzing within you, eager to burst forth. You'll feel like using it whenever you think it is right. But you are the one who has to decide when to hold back.”
The boy looked down at the parchment in his hand. He'd almost forgotten it was there. “I…I understand,” Lyam said reluctantly.
Aveline rubbed her forehead tiredly. “Just give me the parchment.” She held out her hand.
“No, I'll deliver it,” he said, his protest sounded weak to himself. “I-I also won't let her see me.”
“Lyam, we don't have much time. We have to return to Eisdel before tomorrow morning,” Aveline said. “And we still haven't done the thing we were here to do.”
Lyam let out a dejected sigh and handed her the note. She nodded and slipped back into the crowd.
“Outlaw #371, come forth!” the noble's voice rang out. Lyam winced as the crimes were being read again. This time the noble also stated that the outlaw was just a child. This was a warning to all the commoners to take greater care of their children so this twisted sin wasn't committed again.
Then there was that wet crunch, that ominious clang. Lyam clenched his eyes shut. Even from this far away, he knew his marksman's eyesight would've caught the glimpse of the slaughter. And he didn't want to see it. He was afraid he would see Emma's face in the dead, unblinking eyes.
A minute passed. He felt a hand on his shoulder. Aveline was back. “Your mamie has the note now and I was sneaky enough to not let her see who slid it into her hand,” she said. “Now let's get going. We have a castle to raid.”